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 priceless advantage of youth, perfect condition, reach, and about twelve pounds in weight, the champion fought a losin' fight almost from the first bell. The old stamina wasn't there, the old perfect timin' of punches was gone, the once terrible right hook had lost its kick.

Too much confidence, too much easy livin', chasin' around at all hours of the day and night makin' speeches for Senator Brewster, and the most fatal—holdin' Knockout Pierce too cheaply—told the story. With everything missin' but his heart, Kid Roberts fought eleven bloody, desperate rounds on that alone before goin' out like the champ of champs he was! He didn't need to make no apologies as he staggered down the aisle to his dressin' room after it was all over, between rows of guys which had gone crazy cheerin' him, and still kept on cheerin' him, ignorin' the flushed and pantin' new champion till they had give the Kid his due. That must of helped a little, hey?

Nobody amongst the odd 30,000 screamin' maniacs which seen Kid Roberts go down before Knockout Pierce sat on a chair from the first round to the finish—nobody could speak above a whisper for days afterward. At the very beginnin' there was enough sensation to satisfy Nero! After some light sparrin', the Kid led with his left, but was short and got a crack on the nose in return that brought the blood and a yell from Pierce's friendsof "How d'ye like him, Roberts?" Again the Kid tried his left, and this time landed solidly on the mouth, but Pierce shook his head and drove a wicked right to the wind and a left to the heart, showin' he had been tipped on the Kid's poor condition, and was